


How to Win an Argument Without Really Trying

by sffan



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-24
Updated: 2013-11-24
Packaged: 2018-01-02 11:32:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1056255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sffan/pseuds/sffan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It started with a kiss.</p>
<p>Well, actually, it started with an argument.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How to Win an Argument Without Really Trying

**Author's Note:**

> Big heaping thanks to emungere for the beta, despite being in the midst of writing an epic tale herself.
> 
> Yet another "how they got together in the first place" fic. What can I tell you? I'm a sucker for them.

“Why won’t you just _listen_?” Derek says heatedly through clenched teeth.

“Me? Oh, that’s rich, coming from you!” Stiles replies. “You never listen to me!”

“Just because you’re smarter than almost everyone else in the room, Stiles, doesn’t mean you’re always right!” Derek growls back.

“And sometimes, I _am_ and this time I am, goddamnit! You need to – ”

“You’re so fucking stubborn!” Derek interrupts. “Would you just – ”

They’re right in each other’s faces, Stiles poking at Derek’s chest and Derek slapping Stiles’ hand away. It feels like this argument has been going on for hours. Stiles has no idea what possesses him, but he just reaches up, grabs Derek by the face and kisses him. Hard. He puts every ounce of his fucked up feelings for Derek into this kiss – his irritation, his frustration, but most importantly, his devotion and desire. It’s been years in the making, but ever since Derek came back, the charge between them is more obvious than ever, and Stiles is sick and tired of pretending that all he feels for Derek is friendship. 

Stiles stands there cupping Derek’s ridiculously beautiful face in his palms, mashing their lips together for all he’s worth, as Derek’s eyes widen in shock. It feels like the moment goes on and on and will never end – frozen, just like Derek. Stiles is just about to start panicking when Derek makes a soft, wrecked sound and finally, finally kisses Stiles back. There’s no finesse, just desperation and need. It should be all wrong – too rough, too wet, too clumsy – but it’s not. It shakes Stiles to the core, and he clings to Derek and just kisses him harder.

When they stop long enough to drag in shuddering breaths, they stare at each other for about half a second before Derek wraps his arms around Stiles and draws him into another fierce kiss. It’s like they’re making up for lost time – skipping over the first, tentative fumbling kisses and going straight to heated, desperate, and devouring. Stiles whimpers and moans as Derek savages his mouth. He retaliates by sucking on Derek’s bottom lip until Derek growls and grinds his erection against Stiles’ hip so firmly they stumble backwards onto Stiles’ bed. 

They land, mouths still locked firmly together, with barely a stutter as they fall, legs tangled together, arching and rocking against each other as their hands roam, neither of them able to stop – a firm press between shoulder blades, a long, slow drag down an arm, a quick, furtive grasp of ass that elicits a quiet moan and a hard buck of hips. Stiles wants, no, _needs_ to get his hands on Derek’s skin. He tugs at the edge of Derek’s t-shirt.

“Can I?” Stiles asks breathlessly against Derek’s mouth.

Derek leans back, frowning a little in confusion. “Can you what?”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Can I _touch_ you?” He asks, tugging the shirt upwards slightly.

Derek looks even more puzzled and oddly lost.

“What?” Stiles asks. “Why are you looking at me like I just asked you to do a quadratic equation?”

Derek pauses, he looks down, almost shyly, and then back up at Stiles. “No one’s ever asked before,” he says, quietly.

Stiles’ mouth falls open in shock. It takes his brain a couple of seconds to flash through what he knows of Derek’s sexual history before he lets go of the material clenched between his fingers with a shiver of dismay sliding down his spine. Before he can shift away, Derek’s hand is on his, guiding it under the edge of his t-shirt and onto the warm, tight perfection of his stomach. Stiles’ breath catches in the back of his throat, and he looks into Derek’s eyes – dark and blown with desire.

“You can touch, Stiles. Anywhere. Blanket permission.” Derek smiles and curves his other hand around the back of Stiles’ head and pulls him into a slow, tender kiss. In between more kisses, Stiles gasps out, “You, too. Same thing. Just get your goddamn hands on me.”

After that, it’s all just a blur as they tug and pull at each other’s clothes, desperate to get to skin. At some point, Stiles is pretty sure Derek actually rips his jeans in the frantic quest to get as naked as possible as quickly as possible, but any protest is knocked right out of his head at the sensation of Derek’s skin sliding against his.

It’s like every fantasy he’s ever had, only so much better, because no matter how vivid his imagination, Stiles could never fully imagine the firm, rippling strength of Derek’s muscles beneath his fingers or the hard, heavy weight of Derek’s body against his, pinning him to his bed. Nor did he ever envision the near reverent way Derek touches him back – the slow drag of fingers down his spine, the way Derek’s hands curl around him and hold him close, the incredible, passionate kisses that leave him desperate for more.

They twist and roll and grind against each other until Stiles finds himself on top of Derek, straddling him. Derek has one hand buried in Stiles’ hair and the other on his hip, encouraging the slow roll that has their cocks dragging together in a tortuous tease.

“Can I blow you?” Stiles gasps out against Derek’s mouth before sitting back.

Derek’s eyebrow goes up in a distinct ‘are you kidding me?’ arch.

Stiles can feel his cheeks heat up, and he starts babbling out his nervousness. “Look, I get it, dumb question, but it’s not like I have any experience with this. Are you supposed to just, I mean I don’t know if you even – ”

Derek’s hand curving gently around his cheek stops the stream of words. “Stiles, after seeing you with a highlighter, no man in his right mind would turn down the opportunity to get your mouth on him.”

Stiles gapes at Derek, who takes advantage of the silence and Stiles’ open mouth to sit up and kiss him breathless. When the kiss ends, Stiles mutters, “I still may suck at this.”

Derek replies dryly, “I certainly hope so.”

Stiles can’t help it, he starts to giggle. It’s the single cheesiest thing that Derek’s ever said, up to and including his assertions of being the Alpha.

“You did not, oh my god, you – you did not just make the lamest blow job joke ever.” Stiles says in between fits of laughter.

Derek chuckles back. And Stiles is struck by how gorgeous Derek is when he smiles – something that he doesn’t do nearly enough. Stiles kisses Derek fiercely and pushes on his shoulders to get him to lie back down. Derek’s hand splays across his back and brings Stiles down with him. 

Stiles kisses his way down Derek’s neck, nipping and sucking a slow trail down his body, pausing to scrape his teeth over a tight nipple that has Derek arching and moaning, and his fingers clenching around Stiles’ hips briefly. Stiles grins and keeps moving downwards, slowing his progress even more. As much as he wants to get his mouth on Derek’s cock, he’s enjoying this part too much to rush it. 

Derek’s skin is hot against his tongue as he licks a wet path down Derek’s stomach – the muscles twitching and tightening as he goes. Stiles finds a spot just below the dip of Derek’s navel that makes him gasp, and his hips buck when Stiles drags his teeth over it. Stiles stays there licking and sucking until Derek’s practically writhing under him. Stiles watches as the red marks fade away, and can’t resist one last, gentle tease with the tips of his fingers just to watch the skin twitch away as Derek catches his breath sharply.

He trails his fingers lower still and grazes them down over the hot, hard length of Derek’s cock. It twitches under his light touch. Stiles curls his hand around it and gives it a long, slow stroke. Derek groans, and his hips jerk. Stiles does it again a few more times, relishing the way a strange cock feels in his hands. Derek’s thicker and heavier than he is. And uncut. Stiles is fascinated by Derek’s foreskin, rolling his fingers over it, pulling it gently, sliding it up and down over the wet head of Derek’s cock. Stiles has read that a foreskin makes a guy way more sensitive and judging from the gasping, broken sounds coming out of Derek as he plays, it’s true. Stiles shudders, his own cock jerking against his thigh as he imagines the noises he’s going to hear once he gets his mouth on Derek. 

Stiles settles between Derek’s legs and cradles his dick in both hands. He looks up at Derek, who is watching him intently, wets his lips and then drags his mouth up the full length of his cock. Derek’s head falls back, and his hands clench in Stiles’ comforter. Stiles darts his tongue out over the head, swiping over the slit, gathering up the pre-come that has formed. The bitter flavour explodes over Stiles’ taste buds. It’s not exactly pleasant, but it’s not entirely unpleasant either. Stiles licks again, and then again, then swirls his tongue around the whole head before taking it into his mouth entirely. The second his lips close over Derek’s flesh, Derek whines out his name, and his hand curls gently around the back of his head.

Stiles likes it, likes the added contact. Likes knowing that Derek _could_ make him do anything he wanted, but safe in the knowledge that he won’t. Stiles likes it so much that he can’t stop the little moan that bubbles up his throat. Derek’s fingers tighten briefly in his hair and his cock twitches in Stiles’ mouth as a spurt of pre-come flows over Stiles’ tongue.

Taking a deep breath through his nose, Stiles lets his instincts take over. He explores, licking and sucking, finding out what makes Derek writhe and moan, what makes his cock jerk and leak, what makes his hips arch and his fingers clench uncontrollably and uses it all against him until Derek is a panting wreck under him. Stiles curls his hand around the base of Derek’s cock and he slides his mouth down to meet it, swirling his tongue, and sucking steadily as he goes. He draws back until just the tip is between his lips and then he stays there sucking and flicking with his tongue, varying the speed and pressure, listening to every broken, gasping sound Derek makes.

Stiles loves this. He loves that he’s reduced Derek to a writhing, moaning mess. His jaw is aching and his own dick is throbbing with neglect, but he doesn’t care. It’s worth it just to hear Derek gasp out a broken, “Stiles, fuck, Stiles, I’m going –”

Stiles has just enough time to pull away before Derek is coming in hot spurts across his stomach. Stiles strokes him through it, watching, fascinated as he coaxes out another hard spurt of come when he leans down and licks a slow path up the length of Derek’s cock. 

He’s trying to figure out if he likes the taste when Derek hauls him up by the armpits into a bruising kiss that leaves him lightheaded and breathless. Derek kisses him again and again, his hands roaming over Stiles body, moving ever downwards until he curls a hand around Stiles’ cock. Stiles gasps into Derek’s mouth as his hips jerk. Derek rolls them onto their sides and kisses Stiles again – slower, gentler – as he begins to move his hand.

“Oh, fuck, Derek,” Stiles whispers. Derek’s hand on him is slow, tortuous, teasing. Stiles’ orgasm builds and builds until he can do nothing more than moan and shake in Derek’s arms. He always thought he’d go off so fast that it would be embarrassing, but Derek is drawing it out, changing his rhythm up just enough that Stiles is constantly on the edge of orgasm, but never quite _there_. Stiles senses are overloaded and centred on the slide of Derek’s hand on his cock. He can’t even kiss Derek back anymore, just pant and whine against his mouth. Suddenly, Derek’s grip tightens and his strokes speed up and, with one last firm swipe of Derek’s thumb over the head of his cock, Stiles shakes apart, coming so hard he stops breathing as everything in his body freezes up before releasing again. Stiles moans brokenly through his orgasm, voice hitching with every pulse of his cock. Derek murmurs quiet nonsense in his ear as he strokes him through it. 

Still twitching with aftershocks, Stiles curls himself around Derek, burying his face against his neck. There’s some rustling – Stiles is pretty sure it’s Derek wiping his hand on the comforter – before Derek wraps his arms around Stiles, pulling him close. He kisses the top of Stiles’ head and then rests his cheek against it. Stiles plants a soft, uncoordinated kiss on the skin under his lips and then mutters blearily, “Don’t think you won the argument just because you distracted me with fantastic sex. You’re still wrong.”

Derek makes a snorting noise. “Me? _I_ distracted you? I’m pretty sure you kissed me first, Stiles.”

Stiles waves his hand limply. He barely has the energy to move. “Whatever. The sex was fantastic and I’m right. That’s what we’re taking away from this.”

Derek tugs lightly on Stiles’ hair until Stiles looks up at him. “What?”

“You’re ridiculous,” Derek says before cupping his face and kissing him softly. “Go to sleep.” Derek sighs and kisses him again. “We’ll work something out when you wake up.”

Stiles drops his head back against Derek’s neck, tightens his arms around him, and falls asleep with a grin on his face.


End file.
